Part 67

See, prisoner led, with his bands honour'd more Then all the freedome he enjoy'd before.

Mail. At length wee have you, sir.

Clermont. You have much joy too; I made you sport. Yet, but I pray you tell mee, Are not you perjur'd?

Mail. No: I swore for the King. 45

Cler. Yet perjurie, I hope, is perjurie.

Mail. But thus forswearing is not perjurie. You are no politician: not a fault, How foule soever, done for private ends, Is fault in us sworne to the publike good: 50 Wee never can be of the damned crew; Wee may impolitique our selves (as 'twere) Into the kingdomes body politique, Whereof indeede we're members; you misse termes.

Cler. The things are yet the same. 55

Mail. Tis nothing so; the propertie is alter'd: Y'are no lawyer. Or say that othe and othe Are still the same in number, yet their species Differ extreamely, as, for flat example, When politique widowes trye men for their turne, 60 Before they wed them, they are harlots then, But when they wed them, they are honest women: So private men, when they forsweare, betray, Are perjur'd treachers, but being publique once, That is, sworne-married to the publique good-- 65

Cler. Are married women publique?

Mail. Publique good; For marriage makes them, being the publique good, And could not be without them: so I say Men publique, that is, being sworne-married To the good publique, being one body made 70 With the realmes body politique, are no more Private, nor can be perjur'd, though forsworne, More then a widow married, for the act Of generation is for that an harlot, Because for that shee was so, being unmarried: 75 An argument a paribus.

Chal. Tis a shrow'd one.

Cler. "Who hath no faith to men, to God hath none:" Retaine you that, sir? who said so?

Mail. Twas I.

Cler. Thy owne tongue damne thy infidelitie! But, Captaines all, you know me nobly borne; 80 Use yee t'assault such men as I with lackyes?

Chal. They are no lackyes, sir, but souldiers Disguis'd in lackyes coates.

1 Sold. Sir, wee have seene the enemie.

Cler. Avant! yee rascols, hence!

Mail. Now leave your coates.

Cler. Let me not see them more. 85

Aum. I grieve that vertue lives so undistinguisht From vice in any ill, and though the crowne Of soveraigne law, shee should be yet her footstoole, Subject to censure, all the shame and paine Of all her rigor.

Cler. Yet false policie 90 Would cover all, being like offenders hid, That (after notice taken where they hide) The more they crouch and stirre, the more are spide.

Aum. I wonder how this chanc'd you.

Cler. Some informer, Bloud-hound to mischiefe, usher to the hang-man, 95 Thirstie of honour for some huge state act, Perceiving me great with the worthy Guise, And he (I know not why) held dangerous, Made me the desperate organe of his danger, Onely with that poore colour: tis the common 100 And more then whore-like tricke of treacherie And vermine bred to rapine and to ruine, For which this fault is still to be accus'd; Since good acts faile, crafts and deceits are us'd. If it be other, never pittie mee. 105

Aum. Sir, we are glad, beleeve it, and have hope The King will so conceit it.

Cler. At his pleasure. In meane time, what's your will, Lord Lieutenant?

Mail. To leave your owne horse, and to mount the trumpets.

Cler. It shall be done. This heavily prevents 110 My purpos'd recreation in these parts; Which now I thinke on, let mee begge you, sir, To lend me some one captaine of your troopes, To beare the message of my haplesse service And miserie to my most noble mistresse, 115 Countesse of Cambray; to whose house this night I promist my repaire, and know most truely, With all the ceremonies of her favour, She sure expects mee.

Mail. Thinke you now on that?